


Collision Course

by siennavie



Series: More Than Team 'Verse [3]
Category: Flashpoint (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fantasy, Little Bit of Sap, M/M, Multi, Spike is the center of my universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4338713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siennavie/pseuds/siennavie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Spike experiences what could have been and realizes what could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collision Course

**Author's Note:**

> Just listened to Bryan Cranston say, "There's a lot of value in just pure fun." And so far that's been the case with me and writing this underrated show. My hope is that these stories are pure fun to someone out there as well. That makes it worthwhile. Thanks for reading.
> 
> Tag to episode 416 "Blue on Blue," with some dialogue borrowed from the episode and slightly tweaked to my liking. Written in a day and not edited nearly enough, but I just wanted to let go this time :)

"Guys?" Spike ventures. His team quickly quiets around the briefing room table and all eyes turn to him. "I just wanted to say..." He pauses, unsure now how to start. _Thank you for finding me, for being there, for always having my back._ These were the people who had become his second family; family who had almost died today because of him. The feelings of loss and devastation come rushing back, and what comes out instead is, "I'm sorry. I made some choices today. I pulled you guys into trouble." 

"But you didn't choose that trouble," Wordy points out, but Spike needs to explain, needs them to understand why he would put them—people he supposedly loved—in danger.

"I didn't know what else to do, so I turned to you."

"Someone needed you, and you reached out," Jules says gently.

Sam leans forward in his seat and asks, sounding genuinely puzzled, "Where's the part where you made the wrong choice?"

"This is gonna sound crazy," Spike says, grateful to find his voice steady, "but I think of Lew, Mac, and my dad, and today I nearly lose you guys. And I started thinking, anybody who gets close to me..."

"Spike." Greg's voice is quiet but commanding, and Spike looks to his boss instinctively. Greg smiles at him kindly and says, "Without you around..."

Ed shakes his head and huffs a laugh. "Buddy, we'd fall apart" he finishes, clapping Spike on the back. "You hear me?"

Ed holds his gaze with steady, earnest eyes, but Spike's not fully convinced. He ducks his head before Ed can figure it out, forces a smile and nods; maybe if he does that enough, he would start to believe.

"It's been a long day," continues Ed. "What do you say we debrief tomorrow, go to the Goose, grab a beer, call our loved ones. What do you think, Boss?"

"Call my loved ones," Greg echoes.

Spike swallows down a bitter taste and nods mechanically again, before pushing his seat back and standing up to follow his well-meaning teammates to the lockers.

*****

When Spike arrives home, belly full with a couple of beers, the house is dark and empty except for the glow of a single porch light. He remembers his mom had wanted to visit and stay over with some friends tonight, before—well, _before._

He doesn't bother turning on any lights; he's lived here his whole life and can navigate the place blindfolded. Plus, this way he can pretend that it's any ordinary day. That the moving boxes now occupying most of the living room and the half-filled boxes in the kitchen don't exist. 

He heads straight for his bedroom upstairs and closes the door behind him. But instead of peace and quiet that greets him, he hears a fluttering sound, then a _smack smack smack_ , and his pleasantly alcohol-numb brain is fully alert now. He flips on the light switch, eyes wide open and searching, and immediately spots a small, yellow bird hopping on the window sill and making unsuccessful, flailing attempts at taking flight. 

He can hear his mom's panicked voice in his head: "A bird in the house is bad luck, Mikey!"

Spike never bought into ancient, Italian superstitions, but his stomach flips at the sight. He just can't deal with any more misfortune right now. 

_"I think of Lew, Mac, and my dad…"_

And now he's about to lose his only home, his only close family. Yeah, he still has his team. But they each have their own lives and loved ones. So in essence, he really is all alone in the world now.

But maybe it's for the best.

_"Anybody who gets close to me…"_

He looks at the small bird, still hopping and jumping about futilely, and chuckles bitterly.

"I'm bad luck, too, little guy. Birds of a feather, right?"

He pushes off from the door and walks over slowly, trying not to startle the creature. Surprisingly, the bird quiets and stills as he reaches out and scoops it up with his hands; it fits perfectly in one palm and he turns it over in his hand to inspect for injuries.

"So what's wrong with you, little fella," he coos. "Oh, I see. You've hurt your leg…and your wing looks a little bent outta shape there too. Did you hurt yourself trying to get out?" Spike continues murmuring soft assurances as he roots around his bedroom for helpful items. "It's a little late, buddy. The clinics I know are closed so lemme see what I can do for you here. If you're not feeling better by tomorrow, I'll take you to the doc, okay?"

He empties a plastic bin holding some textbooks and arranges one of his tee shirts into something resembling a nest. "Do you like Superman, buddy. Maybe he'll help you to fly again, huh?" He also grabs his first aid kit and hopes human anti-biotic ointment will work on his new avian friend. He dabs a little on the cuts he can see on the bird's leg and awkwardly wraps it with some white gauze. "You're a little small for a splint, so hopefully this is enough," he says as he lowers the bird into the makeshift nest. The yellow bird looks up at him with rather large, fathomless, black eyes, and Spike feels the hairs tingling at the back of his neck.

He shivers and feels a little weak-kneed for reasons he can't define, so he says abruptly, "Well, you should get some sleep now, just like me." He straightens up, drops his phone and wallet on the nightstand; quickly sheds his clothes, deciding to forgo a shower, and then collapses on his bed. He's asleep before he knows it.

*****

Spike wakes up blinded by harsh sunlight streaming in through the window. Huh, he didn't remember opening his curtains the night before. Then the brightness of the sun registers; Spike springs up and practically falls out of bed, legs and feet tangling in the sheets. _Shit,_ he's late! Why didn't anyone call him?! He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and frowns when he sees an unfamiliar silver ring sitting in the middle of his usual belongings. 

He picks it up and studies it in the sunlight. It's not exactly new judging by the slight tarnish and the minute scratches all over the surface. Then he spots the engraving on the inside of the band:

_Forever yours ~ Ed, Greg, & Sam_

Spike's eyes shoot wide open. Before he can contemplate the meaning of those words further, he hears a flush from his en-suite bathroom, and his head whips towards the sound.

Ed comes strolling out, casually, like he belongs there, clad only in a towel. Spike stares. He's seen Ed unclothed before in the locker room on many occasions, might have used the pretty picture for a fantasy or two, but this moment feels wrong, feels different, feels…intimate. His gaze drifts downwards from broad, muscular shoulders to toned and well-defined abs down to…There's a sudden stirring in his groin and Spike blushes and quickly turns his back on his nearly naked Team Leader. What the fuck was Ed doing in his bathroom?!

"Hey, you're up." Spike startles at Ed's voice. The older man sounds rather nonchalant about walking around in Spike's bedroom in his birthday suit.

Spike doesn't— _can't_ reply. All of his muscles are locked in panic. He thinks he's breathing way too loudly to not draw attention. And sure enough, a few beats later, he hears a worried, "Spike, are you okay?" that's way too close in his ear.

He nearly jumps when two strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him a stumbling step backward until his back hits a solid wall of muscle. Ed's concerned face appears over his shoulder. "What's wrong, babe? You feel tense." His sharp, blue eyes study Spike's pale complexion and red cheeks. "Are you sick?" he asks in a gentle voice that nearly undoes Spike; it feels so good to be held like this, to feel cared for, to feel _not alone_. But then Spike mentally shakes himself, reminds himself _this can't be real, this can't be real._ What the hell is going on? 

"Spike?" Ed asks again. He maneuvers Spike around in his arms so that they're facing each other and Spike can clearly see the worried frown on Ed's face.

Spike swallows hard and manages to find voice to reply; it's small and weak but shakes only the slightest when he says, "I think maybe I am."

Ed immediately begins clucking like a mother hen. "Well, it's a good thing we have the day off then. You, stay in bed today. Let Sam and I worry about packing. I'll have Greg bring you up some soup."

"Okay," Spike agrees numbly and lets Ed manhandle him back into bed. Ed takes the ring from his hand, tucks him in and gives him a peck on the cheek before pulling on sweats and a tee and leaving the room. 

Spike blinks owlishly at the empty room for a minute. He's dreaming. He must be. There's no other explanation. He had too much to drink last night and now he's probably passed out in the bathtub or somewhere else unfortunate, his subconscious teasing him with things that he wants so badly but had accepted could never be.

Spike sits up and throws the blanket off, suddenly angry and not content with just lying there and slowly going crazy. He examines his room with a critical gaze; it looks the same as it always has: comic books stacked haphazardly along one wall next to an even larger pile of technical books; above them on a shelf was the bowling pin signed by all his teammates when he got the highest score in a friendly SRU team competition; his hockey gear and equipment rest in a corner of the bedroom next to his dresser; his bed is outfitted in the same blue striped sheets; on his nightstand are his typical items—wallet, phone, alarm clock…and ring. Fuck. That's _not right._ Ed must have put it back there.

He opens the top drawer of his nightstand, sweeps the ring inside, and slams it shut. There's a slight tremor in his hands which he remedies by concentrating on getting dressed.

Outside of his bedroom door, he nearly runs over Sam. "Oh, Jesus!" the blonde man exclaims, before putting out strong hands to steady a similarly startled Spike. "I thought you were in bed. Ed said you weren't feeling well." Sam's face is creased with concern.

"I'm fine, now," Spike replies brusquely, shrugging off the helping hands, and then feels a pang of remorse at the hurt that flashes in Sam's eyes. 

Crap. He knows this isn't the man's fault, whatever _this_ is. 

"Sorry," he quickly apologizes. "I…woke up on the wrong side of the bed." He tries for a joke, wanting to erase the lines marring Sam's youthful face. "I think I just need something to eat." Sam looks at him consideringly, as if trying to gauge whether Spike was really okay. Spike schools his face and after a moment, Sam smiles and says in a pleased voice, "An appetite is a good sign," and begins herding Spike towards the stairs with one hand on the small of his back. 

They pass the guest bedroom on the way and, through the open door, Spike glimpses rumpled bedsheets and two familiar standard issue duffel bags at the foot of the bed. When they arrive at the kitchen, Spike is not surprised this time to find Greg standing barefoot in front of the stove, stirring a pot of soup. Ed is leaning on the counter beside him, appearing to be more of an annoyance than a help, judging by the way Greg keeps trying to push him away with a laugh. Knowing Ed, the man was probably trying to spike his meal with chili peppers.

"Look who's feeling better," Sam announces to the room. Both men at the stove turn around, surprise quickly melting away into something tender, something wholly unfamiliar, that makes Spike's whole body tingle with warmth. His lips twitch upwards of their own accord into a genuine smile.

Ed moves quickly to pull out a chair at the dining table and nudge Spike towards it. "You still look ready to keel over though, so sit down before you do."

Greg hands off the stirring spoon to Sam and pads over to give Spike his own morning greeting. A large but gentle hand cups his cheek and tilts his face upwards for a kiss. Spike doesn't resist, because he finds himself wanting it, too.

Greg must sense his need because he pushes a little further, touches his tongue teasingly to the seam of Spike's lips and Spike opens to let him in. 

"Hey, hey, not at the kitchen table," Ed's voice admonishes, but when Spike pulls away and meets the other man's gaze, there's an amused twinkle in those deep blue eyes.

"Be careful; you still might catch something," Sam further teases.

Greg grins lasciviously and winks at Spike—it's a new look on his boss that catches Spike off guard and makes him flush red to the tip of his ears—"Taking some time off work, spending all day in bed, just the two of us…I don't know. I think we'll make it work."

Spike doesn't know what alternate universe he's landed in, but he knows that he doesn't want to leave.

*****

After breakfast, Spike offers to clean up the dirty dishes, but Greg sends him downstairs to the basement with Ed and Sam instead. The basement looks just like he had left it the other day, a bunch of empty and waiting boxes piled in front of an overwhelming number of shelves filled to the brim with 40 years' worth of Scarlatti family heirlooms.

"How do you wanna do this, chief?" asks Ed.

Spike looks at the mountain before him, then back at his…he still hasn't figured out what. Boyfriends? Ed and Sam are looking at him expectantly. He starts to say, "You guys really don't have to—" 

But Sam cuts him off. "We want to, Spike. Now tell us where to start."

Both men sport resolute expressions, and Spike knows it's no use arguing with them any further. He had been preparing himself the last few days to undertake this task alone, so as he sets them to work at different shelves, he feels a tightness in his chest and a burning in his eyes that has nothing to do with the dust kicking up around the room.

Greg joins them a half hour later carrying a cooler filled with bottles of water and beer. They make good progress in the next few hours, considering that half the time isn't spent working but instead goofing around and sharing childhood tales inspired by some photo, trinket, or other random object unearthed from Spike's past. Spike learns more about his longtime teammates, friends, and surrogate family, in this one session than he has in all the years he's known them.

Sitting on an upturned old paint bucket, watching Sam and Ed horse around, wrestling each other on the worn rug with hands so strong, so steady, so sure, yet so tender and gentle with each other at the same time, Greg laughing loudly and uninhibitedly, eyes crinkling with joy—Spike thinks he might have just fallen a little bit more in love.

*****

By lunch time, Spike has stopped trying to figure out what happened to turn his universe upside-down last night. He's just grateful and trying to enjoy every minute…and hoping that the next minute won't be the last. He's still not sure this isn't all one crazy, whacked up dream. He's pinched himself a few times by now, but the picture in front of him doesn't change.

Ed, Greg, and Sam have piled onto the sofa, limbs tangled together and askew. Ed has control of the remote and is surfing through the action movie options on Netflix. Sam looks over his shoulder, spots him frozen like a statue on the living room threshold and beckons for him to hurry up and join them. Spike sees no reason not to.

*****

Time passes too quickly for Spike's liking. After the movie, the guys have to pack up and leave because, as they remind him, his mom is due home any minute from her visit to friends.

Spike stands in the doorway of the guest room and watches Sam and Greg fold their clothes and zip up their duffels, watches Ed saunter from the bedroom they had apparently shared last night—and God, what Spike would give to remember _that_ —his duffel bag slung carefully carelessly over one shoulder. Spike tries to etch that very picture permanently into his brain. 

When they're saying their goodbyes, Spike touches them as much as he can until Sam jerks him into an embrace, pinches him on the butt and tells him to stop starting something they can't finish right now. Then Sam kisses him breathless before letting him go and walking away with a smirk and a wave. Ed and Greg follow Sam's example, and Spike is left half-hard and aching by the time he's done with goodbyes.

He's thinking about cold showers or maybe some private time with his left hand, when he catches sight of something bright yellow fluttering in the peripheral of his vision. He looks upward and sees a yellow bird circling outside his bedroom window, just like the one that had been— 

The bird!

Shit. He had totally forgotten about the injured bird all day. The door swings shut behind him with a slam as he races up the stairs to his bedroom. The plastic container with his t-shirt is still sitting on the desk, but it's empty. He looks all over his bedroom, even under his bed, wanting to make sure the small bird hadn't fallen to the ground, but there isn't a yellow feather in sight.

Giving up, he turns to the yellow bird still hovering outside the window pane. Black eyes, seemingly as old and deep as the universe gaze back upon him. Then the bird flutters up and Spike catches a glimpse of white before it darts away. Spike rushes forward and swings open the window. Eyes searching the sky, he finally spots a yellow dot quickly disappearing into the east.

He watches it until it's gone, feels a strange sense of loss until he moves to close the window and finds something sparkling on the windowsill.

The silver ring.

Spike stares at it, stunned. Hadn't it been…? He goes to check his dresser drawer, and the ring he remembered putting inside this morning is gone. Back at the windowsill, he picks the ring up carefully, delicately, like he would an armed and dangerous bomb, and checks the inscription.

_Forever yours ~ Ed, Greg, & Sam_

There's a sudden insistent pressure behind his eyes and an ache in his chest. He fists the ring in his palm, squeezes tight enough that the edges dig, what he hopes are indelible, marks in his skin. He blinks rapidly, tries to choke down the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He's not sure he deserves it, not sure he should let them in so close, but after today, he knows he can't do without.

He puts the ring on and the world suddenly tilts.

*****

Spike jerks upright in bed and wavers unsteadily left and right, disoriented by the sudden shift in position. His alarm is blaring, and Spike groggily turns to shut it off and peer at the clock. He feels something crack in his chest when the date tells him it's the morning after his ordeal with David. Which means that the whole day that he had just spent with Ed, Greg, and Sam had truly all been a dream, a figment of his imagination.

Spike groans and flops backward, covering his face with his arms to mourn what he had never had and yet somehow managed to lose. What a fine example of Michelangelo Scarlatti luck, he thinks, brushing a wayward tear from his cheek, and that's when he feels it, cool metal against his cheek.

He jerks his hand up in front of his face. The silver ring winks back at him.

*****

Over the next week, Spike can't stop watching Greg, Ed, and Sam in turn. Now that he's looking more closely, he notices how Ed's gaze softens when his eyes alight on him, how Greg sneaks appreciative glances at him in the locker room when he thinks no one's watching, and how Sam reaches out to touch him more than anyone else on the team. He also notices how, at the end of the day, Ed and Greg stand just a little too close, a little too long. How Ed's eyes linger and darken when Sam gets undressed. How Sam makes an effort to make Greg smile and laugh after a long day and brightens perceptibly when he succeeds. Spike also notices how his body naturally gravitates to the three men, whomever is closest in range. And that all three of them seem to subconsciously orbit around him.

It should be inappropriate, and yet Spike gets the sense that they're all aware, yet dancing carefully around, this undeniable attraction that's drawing the four of them on an inexorable collision course.

One day, as Spike is changing back into street clothes in front of his open locker, Sam looks across at him, then over his shoulder at the top shelf of his locker and asks, "Is that a new ring?"

Spike picks up the polished silver and slips it on his finger with a sentimental smile. "Yeah."

"I see," Ed says in a teasing voice and trades a curious, questioning glance with Greg. "Care to share who's it from?"

Spike closes his locker and replies mysteriously, "One day," and makes a promise of it.


End file.
